


I may be older, but I am not wise

by DancingLassie



Series: Oxenfurt Academicals [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Ciri poses as Jaskier's daughter, Gen, Geralt isn't in this yet, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier finds Ciri, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oxenfurt Academy, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingLassie/pseuds/DancingLassie
Summary: "His colleagues at Oxenfurt had been surprised when he'd shown up for the teaching post he'd agreed to take on for at least a term with an illegitimate daughter in tow.  Though it was less surprise at the daughter and more shock that they had been surprised at all."When Jaskier finds Ciri while she's on the run after the fall of Cintra, he decides that it's his duty to keep her safe.  He's not a witcher or a powerful mage.  He doesn't have a fortress or magic spells to protect her with.  So he takes her to the one place he where he believed he can protect her.  Oxenfurt Academy.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Oxenfurt Academicals [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645921
Comments: 50
Kudos: 939





	I may be older, but I am not wise

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't written anything in years, but this idea took hold and refused to let go so I've brushed off my quill and parchment and taken a stab at it.
> 
> Geralt/Jaskier is the ultimate endgame, but it's not going to happen for awhile (Geralt probably won't even appear for quite some time). The main focus is on Jaskier and Ciri and how they become a family and interact with the wonderful (and sometimes bizarre) world of academia.
> 
> I've watched the show, read the first two books and obsessively played the Witcher 3 multiple times so this is likely to be a mesh of worlds as I take what I like best from each.

Cintra was burning around her. Ever hungry, all consuming mouths of flame ground down the buildings surrounding her and scorched her cheeks stiff with the blasts of heat they gave off as she ran through the screaming city. She hurtled down deserted streets, unable to understand where the screaming was coming from as even over the loud, piercing wails she heard the heavy rhythmic thumps and clangs of the Black Knight in the Winged Helmet chasing after her.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest, an uneven tempo of all encompassing fear as the sound got closer and closer no matter how fast she tried to run. A cruel, hard arm snaked its way around her waist and her back collided with the burning cold metal adorning his chest. She looked up to see his other arm raised over his head, sword glinting a hellish red in the light of the fires. She tried to work up the voice to scream as he swung it down and then-

“Ciri!”

Warm arms gripped her pulling her into a soft cotton shirt. The cold metallic thumps of the knights boots were replaced with the comforting beats of a reassuringly alive heart as it pumped blood around a familiar, safe body. Ciri gasped in a mouthful of worn fabric as she worked her arms out of the sweat soaked sheets and wrapped them around the neck of her saviour, pulling herself up slightly so he could cradle her properly. She tucked her nose into the gap between his shoulder and collarbone so she could breathe in the familiar scent. His normal perfume of choice worn down and gentler on the nose after a long day, mingling with the natural aroma of sweat. It put her in mind of the gifts Oferi diplomats used to present to her grandmother - something peppery interlaced with something tart and citrusy. It was a well known scent by now.

Long fingers ran down her hair, strands occasionally getting caught on hard earned callouses. Then the humming started, quickly followed by a soft, crooning song. _“The sun's going down in the deep blue sea. So close your eyes and go to sleep...”_

Hands moved from her hair as tears were wiped away from her closed eyelids and wet cheeks and then she was tucked carefully back into the safety of his embrace. She kept her eyes closed as she remembered her grandfather once doing the same thing for her after her parents drowned at sea. When instead of fire, it was the unyielding ocean that haunted her nightmares. The chest she was resting against was not broad enough to be her grandfather's and the voice was far too in tune, but the comfort and warmth was the same.

“ _I may be older but I am not wise, I'm still a child in this grown up disguise..”_

It was this moment Ciri liked best. That moment in between awake and asleep. When the arms that held her and the voice that sang carried the power to banish the memories brought by the former and the nightmares that threatened the latter. If she could of consciously stayed in this moment for hours she would have, but as always her mind eventually grew too fuzzy and against her will slipped away from her and into sleep.

* * *

Jaskier slipped out of the small room that was acting as his ward's bedroom. Technically, it was supposed to be his study. Professors at Oxenfurt Academy did not generally live with family during term time, and if they did then they tended to live off campus in the town itself. As such, his official quarters comprised only of a sitting room to entertain guests and host informal tutorials for particularly favoured students, a decent sized bedroom and a small study that he had convinced the housekeeper, Sara, to begrudgingly help refurbish into a bedroom for Ciri.

Despite her undisguised disdain for him, Sara had outdone herself and Jaskier had carefully tucked the lovingly stitched patchwork blanket around the small girl in the bed before he'd snuck out the room. Sara had brought it round as a gift after popping in to make sure the Academy servants had arranged the room to her satisfaction three weeks ago.

“Any daughter of yours needs all the help she can get,” she had sneered as she had pointedly ignored the thanks he had tried to bestow upon her. He hadn't really expected any other reaction from her.

His colleagues at Oxenfurt had been surprised when he'd shown up for the teaching post he'd agreed to take on for at least a term with an illegitimate daughter in tow. Though it was less surprise at the daughter and more shock that they had been surprised at all. After all, his reputation proceeded him, both as a bard and poet of unequal magnificence and as a shameless flirt and womaniser. No one questioned or doubted that Ciri was his and all it had taken was some hair dye that turned her ashen locks a glossy chestnut colour that he religiously checked the roots of each morning to ensure that a top up was not required.

Jaskier took a seat at the desk he had shoved into the corner of his sitting room and pulled the stack of essays he had previously been marking towards him with a stifled groan. In all honesty, this type of life wasn't for him. There was far too many meetings and mundane practicalities involved. All set against the same scenery with little variety or adventure. It was the war with Nilfgaard that had convinced him to accept the long offered job, at least for awhile. While war tore apart the landscape of the southern part of the Northern Kingdoms, Oxenfurt still remained mostly unscathed. Villages in Redania may have been experiencing an increase in military bandwagons, there to convince impressionable youths of the glory and riches awaiting them as a soldier, but rich merchants and nobles sons and daughters were still being sent to the Academy to secure their family's future and influence.

It had occurred to Jaskier that a term teaching might not be the worse price to pay for a warm place to sleep each night and belly guaranteed to be well fed. He had come across many refugees who were not so fortunate, including one little girl on her own who he could have sworn looked familiar. Once that puzzle had been worked out Jaskier knew that the safest place he could secure for them was the Academy.

He was not Geralt. He didn't have some impenetrable hidden witcher's fortress to lock a hunted, runaway princess in. He was not Yennefer, with a plethora of magic tricks hidden up her elegant sleeves. No doubt she would have been able to move Ciri easily from town to town, always staying five steps ahead of the hunters.

He was Jaskier.

He was a bard.

He was a _famous, well known_ bard. Moving from town to town with a young girl, even if they had disguised her as a young boy, would have drawn attention he was not sure even he could necessarily always explain away. Add on the increasing bandit attacks as the starving masses grew larger and more desperate...

Well, Jaskier hadn't liked the look of those odds.

But Oxenfurt, a place he had not been to in several years and where tales of his misspent youth were told just as frequently as those of this academic brilliance, that was a place where he could guarantee them some safety. Hidden in plain sight with a lie so believable that Jaskier thought he could almost convince himself. Even if an outsider did start poking around it was unlikely that they would get anything from the staff. Not only did the professors tend to distrust anyone they could not remember struggling to reach early lectures on time with in their own student days, but such was the nature of the human mind that several of Jaskier's colleagues were convinced they remembered ' _dear Julian's_ ' panic several years ago when an old flame had tracked him down and informed him of his fatherhood.

That he had only claimed the girl after her mother had died of the plague that ravaged the Cintran countryside following countless raids by feral, angry Nilfgaardian soldiers was both believable and handily explained both the unmistakable accent and skittishness of his young charge. Ciri still surveyed the world around her with a weariness Jaskier was not foolish enough to believe he could ever completely erase. All he could do was offer comfort where he could, with kind embraces, soothing songs and smiles aplenty. Here, in their set of rooms, he set out to convince her that she was safe. That he would look after her and that he would allow nothing to harm her.

Some days it seemed she almost let herself believe it as she looked at him across the small table they usually had a private breakfast on with heart-wrenching gratitude in her eyes that never failed to bring a lump to his throat and a silly song to his lips (desperate to hear the small laugh she sometimes allowed herself).

Jaskier eventually had to give up on the essays as a particularly badly written one had him throwing down his quill in disgust and he stormed over to the large window that looked out over the quadrangle. A few lights from other windows dotted around the square winked mockingly at him as he stared gloomily out at the dark patch of grass below.

He was restless. His own thoughts stirring up a familiar storm of worry and doubt that he had so rarely experienced before willingly taking on the role of father. Or was it before being left to make his own way down that thrice-damned mountain?

He was feeling cooped up and stifled and there was nothing he could do to release the pent up energy that buzzed infuriatingly under his skin. He daren't leave Ciri sleeping alone and unguarded. What if she cried out again from one of her frequent nightmares and he wasn't there to comfort her? But that meant he couldn't go out to one of his usual haunts and drink a few rounds, play a few songs and find a willing woman or man to take to bed for a quick fuck that would leave them both sore and exhausted.

He couldn't just pack up and leave now. He was tied down, secured in place by obligations and responsibilities. A fate he had been running from for most of his adult life much to his parents anger and disappointment.

Melitele's tits, but how did parents cope with this? With this sudden curb of freedom and spontaneity? Was this what made his own parents so distant and bitter towards him? He tried to understand but all it took was the memory of Ciri clinging to him for safety and he knew that even after such a short time he already loved her and his parents attitudes once again remained a mystery.

Unable to take this motionless pondering, Jaskier found himself striding around the room in meaningless circles as he ran agitated fingers through his hair and tapping frantic beats onto his skull with his fingertips.

He had always thought himself so clever. He was clever. He had one of the best educations money could buy and he'd made the most of it. But if travelling with a certain witcher had shown him one thing, clever was not the same sense. _Had_ it been sensible to steal away Geralt's child surprise when he found her?

Gods knew Geralt hadn't wanted anything to do with her. The same way he had wanted anything to do with Jaskier. A year later and that still stung with a hot burst of pain somewhere in the region of his heart.

Twenty-two years following the man, ten years silently loving him and all he had to show for it were the songs that made him famous, a creak in his bones, a few scars and an unseen wound he did not know how to heal.

Well, _fuck Geralt_.

He hadn't wanted either Ciri or Jaskier. They could manage without him, together. Here, in Oxenfurt, they could both heal and when Ciri was feeling better, when she was ready to face the world again, she would find she had the all the knowledge and expertise Oxenfurt Academy had to offer at her fingertips. Most importantly, she would have him.

Somehow, Jaskier swore, he would prepare her for the world and when he was done the world (Geralt) wouldn't know what hit them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. The next few stories I aim to have Ciri and Jaskier interacting with the staff and students of the university. Does anyone have any ideas for what weird traditions somewhere as old as Oxenfurt Academy might have? 
> 
> The song used is Nightingale's Lullaby by Julie Last.


End file.
